Aftermath of Madness
by L. VanDattae
Summary: (MWS sequel) Tim's plan failed. The curse wiped out most of the world's population, leaving Ra's in charge of Gotham and a reincarnated, memory-less Tim in the man's hands. Now Dick and Jason and Bruce must convince him Ra's isn't what he seems.
1. From Destruction

**Disclaimer:** All characters are copyright of DC. No monetary profit is being made from the writing or distribution of this fic.

**Important Information:** This fic assumes you have read and are familiar with the events in Madness Whispers Sweetly. While this is not exactly an alternate ending, because it assumes some characters present in the previous fic never existed and others were never cursed among other discrepancies, it does rely heavily on the same storyline.

**Chapter 1**

From Destruction

"There's so much destruction." Tim gripped the railing and couldn't help but despair a little, as he always did at the end of the day when dusk turned the broken, jutting shards of the city red and then forbidding black. He'd seen the pictures, the images of the city when it had been whole, spires stretching toward the heavens. Once, it had been powerful. Once, it had dared to scrape the sky. None of that remained now. Looking out across the horizon, much of it had been torn apart, destroyed by a people gone mad or ravaged by fire and looters and decay. Now, all he could see when he stood on the balcony and stared out at the land was a city razed, broken down to its basest of parts, slowly recovering from the madness that had gripped it.

There was so much work to do.

"Some destruction is necessary." Ra's stepped up behind him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, robes brushing his skin. Tim shivered, turning his head to look at the man behind him. "Sometimes the old and diseased must be excised so it won't strangle the strong, new growth." Tim was a part of this new world, something Ra's was protecting. If it hadn't been implied, Tim could feel it in the grip of strong hands still at his shoulders. Ra's had told him about the old world—about the rot that had slowly infested its underbelly, eating away until it was ready to collapse from its own weight. He'd seen those pictures too: the bodies lying like refuse in the gutter, people huddled in squalor, babies left in dumpsters. Ra's had brought people together after the chaos when he'd destroyed the source of the madness. He'd unified them, given them hope, helped them rebuild, protected them. Tim only wanted to do as much.

Ra's gestured, drawing his attention back to the ruins.

"Why do we have destruction, Timothy?" Timothy. Only Ra's ever called him that.

"So we can start over."

"Yes," Ra's practically purred, pleased. The man's hands fell away as he turned to go, taking the warmth with him. Night had fallen some time ago and it was chilly on the balcony.

Looking over the city one last time, at the scattered lights breaking up the gloom, on the verge of following Ra's, Tim just caught a flicker of movement on one of the crumbling rooftops below. Quickly he turned back, staring curiously down into the shadows so many floors away. There was someone there, silhouetted on the edge of the roof, standing tall and immobile now. Tim squinted, willing the darkness to sharpen, trying to make out more distinguishable shapes. He shifted just a hair to the right and suddenly the light reflected off eyes staring up at him.

Tim jerked back, surprised, both at being seen so far above and at the way everything seemed to drop out from under him when their eyes met. He grasped at the railing for support, steadying himself and looking again for the figure below. This time though, no bright flicker of eyes met his. The figure was gone. The shadows were empty.

"Timothy?" Ra's called, somewhere inside, and Tim gave up, turning reluctantly to follow the man he admired more than any other.

"Coming!"

Ra's had given him a home, after all, and a purpose. Raised him like a son. Saved him from the beasts who'd killed his parents. He owed the man everything.

* * *

"What are you working on?" Ra's crossed curiously to the boy's side when he found Timothy at the marble-covered, mahogany desk the next day, surrounded by sheets of paper. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and Timothy leaned back obligingly so he could see the neatly scrawled notes he'd written up.

"Plans to clear more land. We were almost short on food last winter and more people come every year."

Ra's looked them over for a minute, but they were immaculate as usual. The boy's work barely needed supervising at all. If he'd been anyone else, Ra's would have long since given him some of the task teams to order about, but well, some things were too important to let out of his sight. This one in particular… If there was one thing he could not afford to lose, it was Timothy.

The boy looked up at him—looked up _to_ him—blue eyes sharp, waiting, and Ra's couldn't help the swell of satisfaction he felt every time those eyes sought him for acceptance or advice. Without the corrupting influence of the Detective, he'd proven much more receptive.

"Well done. I'll pass it on." He started to turn away, but Timothy shot up, leaning forward earnestly.

"I'd like to take charge of it myself." Because the boy didn't understand the critical part he played already, or how easily everything could fall apart if something happened to him. Because he was made for more than this, whether he remembered or not, and the restrictions Ra's had placed on him were undoubtedly irksome.

"That's impossible."

"Why?" Timothy's grip firmed on the back of the chair, free hand gesturing fervently toward the broken horizon. "I could do so much more out there helping people with my own hands." He could. Ra's had seen it, and he wasn't going to let the boy do anything that might make him remember.

"_Timothy_," Ra's started in something like fond exasperation, "ever since I rescued you from the monsters who killed your parents, I've thought of you as my own. It would put my mind at ease if you'd stay here where my guards can keep you safe."

Timothy frowned, displeased, but he didn't pursue the matter, and that seemed… a little too easy, especially from someone so strong willed. This wasn't the end of the argument. Nevertheless, when Ra's turned away this time, attention caught by the agitated hissing of one of the demons, there was no further move to stop him.

* * *

Tim perched in the dark along the roof of one of the houses that had been reconstructed just earlier that week, proud of the work that had been done. Garbed completely in the black uniform he'd borrowed from one of Ra's' men, he blended deftly into the shadows. Ra's would not have approved had he known. The man preferred to keep him out of the general public, only allowed to help from behind the scenes or during the handful of times the man could accompany him personally. Sneaking out on nights Ra's was gone was the only way to see the city, to breathe it in and feel the grit of it beneath his shoes.

He liked to see the progress they were making too. Not that he didn't trust the men who reported to Ra's, but it was another thing to see it and walk through it himself and know that something good had been accomplished: another little piece of the city cleaned up and working again. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could sit on a roof and listen to the content chatter of the family inside through an open window. Those instances always felt the most satisfactory.

Not tonight.

Motion caught his attention and he spun to watch a man in a patch-worked coat step up to the backdoor of a little shop, jamming a twisted piece of metal into the crack between the wooden frame and the door.

"Stealing's against the law," Tim hissed, as he dropped down from the roof, sweeping the man's legs out from under him with a low kick. All the work they'd done, all the progress they'd made to give these people homes, food, clothing, and still they tried to steal from one another like animals. "You know the punishment." Pinning the man's arm to the ground with a black-clad boot, he drew the katana at his back with a resonating _sching_ of cold metal, holding it high. It was one of the many weapons Ra's insisted he know how to use.

The man spat, thrashing, contorted face reflected in the cold metal of the blade poised above him.

At the last second though, before he could complete the swing of the sword, something clamped hard around Tim's wrist.

"You don't want to be doing that, kid." Tim blinked to find his wrist pinned between strong fingers, still held above his head. The man who'd somehow snuck up on him was wearing a stylized red domino mask, a brown jacket and denim jeans. There was something about him, something about the strong lines of his face perhaps or his imposing stature (he towered over Tim), something that drew the eye, made it hard to look away.

Tim stared, caught not so much by the man's impressive height or the surprise of having been snuck up on—an impressive feat in itself—but by the strange, disorienting familiarity of the man. It wasn't anyone he recognized, but he would have sworn before Ra's that they'd met before.

"Let me go." Tim tugged on his captured hand, unnerved by how quickly this stranger had gotten into his head. That was dangerous. He couldn't dredge up any fear though. Only wariness.

Under his foot, the would-be thief's bravado had given out, and he reach out to the handsome stranger for help. The stranger eyed him a second, mouth turning down disdainfully, before his attention turned back to Tim.

"If I let go, what will you do?"

"Would you like to find out?" Tim asked archly. For a minute the man only regarded him, expression hidden by the mask. Whatever issue he contemplated though, it didn't take long. Before Tim could get impatient, the man released him with a grunt.

Free, Tim completed the strike he'd been stopped from earlier, plunging the katana into the ground a hair to the right of the man's head, satisfied with the wide-eyed whine it tore from his shaking prisoner. Tim dropped into a crouch so he could whisper warningly, one hand still on the hilt of the katana.

"If I catch you again, I'll turn you over to Ra's. You know what he does to thieves, yes?" In response, the man's eyes rolled up into his head. Tim hummed, satisfied. Scaring them was good enough. He'd never been fond of Ra's' totalitarian tactics—a trait the man seemed to find both annoying and amusing at times.

Beside him, the stranger's mouth had quirked into the beginning of a sharp grin, apparently approving.

"You should leave the city," Tim told him, straightening from his crouch to face the man. "If Ra's finds you— Hey!" The stranger's fingers unraveled the black wrapping covering Tim's face with one deft jerk, revealing his tousled black hair and sharply contrasting pale skin. It was too much to hope the thin shadows would hide him. There were too many people who knew his face, who'd seen him beside Ra's. But the stranger didn't show any surprise, fingers reaching out and curling around the back of Tim's neck before he could duck into denser darkness. Seeing Tim revealed, the hard set of the man's features softened, that was all.

"Does Ra's know _you're_ out here?"

"Of course he does!" Tim lied, bristling at the stranger's disregard for his warning, the liberties he was taking (no one had ever touched him so openly—Ra's would have fed them to his demons), but the man's mouth curved smugly, _knowingly_, calling him out.

"So many incarnations, and you haven't changed at all. Still a liar." Tim trembled under the thumb stroking low against the base of his throat, the knowledge of him this man possessed. The fingers wrapped around his neck were gentle but strong as bars.

"What…" Tim licked his lips, tried to get the world to steady. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember anything?" The gentle stroking of those fingers was coaxing now, the man examining him intently from behind that mask.

"I don't even know your name!"

"_No_." The man's voice was a growl. "No, you _do_ know my name, Tim. I know you do. You remembered last time. You can do it again." The grip on his neck tightened briefly—not threateningly, not painfully, just a reassuring pressure—before those strong fingers returned to their stroking, thumb smoothing over the pulse-point distractingly. There was something intense about the man, something demanding. Something familiar.

Against all odds, there was a name on the tip of Tim's tongue. He tried to swallow it down—the absurdity of it—but the stranger seemed to know. The hand that had been curled around the back of his neck slid to his chin, thumb digging into the cleft there a little, pulling at his lip, opening his mouth.

"Say it."

But Tim balked. This was ridiculous. He would've remembered if he'd met anyone dressed like this man before, and Ra's was so restrictive anyway. He definitely would've remember the feel of the man's hands—no, he _did_ remember, and the man wasn't going to let him go without admitting it.

"_Say it_."

"Jason!" It was a gasp that rattled him. He didn't know where it came from, and he trembled under the unexplainable knowledge of it, wide-eyed and spooked.

"Yes," and now the man's other hand was on his face, like he just couldn't hold back anymore, and maybe the strong grip of fingertips curled against Tim's cheek was some kind of reward to match the hard smile pulling at the man's lips. The grip of those hands changed then, framing his face, and Jason stepped closer, nose brushing Tim's forehead, breathing him in. "_Yes_. Say it again."

"_Jason_." Tim's fingers caught at the man's elbows, digging into that leather jacket for purchase, for something to hang onto, because the world was lurching sickeningly. It felt like things were falling apart, falling away on all sides, and he could only stand there, wide eyed and so very confused by it all.

"What are you..." He swallowed, trying to push the words out and still keep the nausea down. "What are you doing to me?" He tried to push away from Jason, away from the source, and stumbled on still shaky legs, Jason's quick grasp at his elbow the only thing keeping him upright.

"The memories were disorienting last time too," Jason said, apologetically, and that made even less sense. Tim frowned at him, waiting for everything to finish steadying, but just then the black fingers of shadows stirred, crawling unnaturally across the street toward them, and the stranger released him completely with a growl. Both of them turned toward the new menace.

"Demons," Tim whispered, annoyed, but when he turned back, the man was already gone.

* * *

Jason wanted nothing more than to pick Tim up and haul him bodily back to the manor, to just thieve him away in the night, to heck with the fact that Tim would fight him every step of the way, still loyal to a monster masquerading as a man.

He snarled in the darkness, baring white teeth at the lost opportunity. How many times had he stood on the rooftops below and stared up at the tower—what had once been an All Seasons Hotel overlooking Central Park, the only building to survive the destruction thanks to Ra's' occupancy at the time. How many times had he seen the light spilling from the top floor and stood there, senses straining against the distance for a glimpse, a broken sentence, anything he could keep of Tim's. Now he'd had the kid practically in his arms, had gotten to hear his own name in that confused voice—and oh, he was certain he could have gotten more out of the kid—nothing separating them, fully capable of dragging him home, where he'd be safe at last, and he _couldn't_. His hands twitched with the need to pull the kid against his side and fight off Ra's' minions tooth and nail, to not let them have a single scrap of his brother ever again.

Instead, he watched the demons sweep up beside Tim, ushering the frustrated boy back towards the tower, back to whatever penance he faced. Jason watched, and he let it happen, teeth clenched and nails digging into his palms until blood dripped from his knuckles onto the rooftop under his boots.

* * *

"Again, Timothy?" Ra's knelt across from him, resplendent as always in flowing emerald robes, edged gold. He held the air of a tired parent. "Must I assign you more vigilant guards?"

"You already had one of your demons following me or they wouldn't have found me so quickly." Tim still wore the black uniform in which he'd been caught, clinging to this last act of defiance. Not that he'd meant to disobey Ra's, but that he wasn't ashamed of trying to do something more to help.

"Apparently it was necessary, since you seem determined to throw yourself into danger."

"I can hold my own."

"It's not your ability I doubt." For a minute, Ra's' lips quirked into something of a sharp smile. The man knew perfectly well what he was capable of. He'd _trained_ him.

"Then what?"

"There's been another attack." As quickly as the shadow of a smile had come, it was gone, smoothed into steely resolve.

Tim didn't have to ask who was responsible. There was only one man Ra's took so seriously.

"The Detective." Despite everything Ra's had done to provide structure to a world gone mad, despite all the efforts to rebuild—organizing people, building shelters, gathering food—there were still enemies. The Detective, in particular, plagued them constantly. Neither the man nor his allies ever stole food—in fact, they'd often attacked and terrorized those who tried—never took anything valuable at all, but they'd repeatedly sabotaged Ra's' attempts to discipline thieves and even attacked him directly.

Tim didn't understand what Ra's had done to upset them.

"I want to help," he tried again, holding out his hands palm up, beseechingly. It wasn't bravado—not any belief that he could suddenly fix what Ra's apparently couldn't—but rather, he couldn't shake the feeling that if he could just meet with them…

"You are too important."

"I could be more important. I could talk to them."

"You undervalue yourself. You aren't a pawn to throw at the feet of enemy forces."

Tim sighed, sitting back, and tried another track.

"Why does he attack you?"

Ra's chuckled, a dark sound, and reached out suddenly for Tim's arm, drawing it toward him, extending it the way he might have if showing Tim something important in training. "Some time ago I took something from him." There had been a time—so very long ago, when Tim had first come to live with Ra's—that the man's touch had frightened him, leaving him with vague nightmares and distant pain and nausea. Ra's had been persistent though, hands falling reassuringly on his shoulders when he'd shied away, and eventually the nightmares had faded, leaving only the man and the warmth of sturdy hands Tim trusted more than any other.

"It must have been something important."

"It was. Something he cared for very much. He has never forgiven me for the loss." The man's eyes on him were starkly possessive, and Tim pulled back, flustered when Ra's looked at him like that. He couldn't pull completely out of the man's firm hold though, and Ra's' grip only tightened warningly, the fingers of one hand pinching his palm and the other sliding up to grip his elbow bracingly. Then the man's eyes met his, fierce and hard, slicing into him. "These aren't men like us. They can beguile you with a look. They can get inside your mind." Tim nodded numbly, taken by the gravity of the man's grim demeanor, and Ra's' grip finally eased a little, assured that the importance of his warning had gotten through. Still, he didn't completely let go, holding on for one last reassurance.

"Promise me you will never go looking for them."

Tim squirmed uncomfortably, not willing to let the subject go, but the man's very presence demanded obedience, pulling the promise out of him.

"Yes, _austad_."

* * *

As it turned out, Tim didn't need to go looking for them at all.

It happened at the Accounting, practically the next day. Ra's had let Tim come because the man was planning to move forward with his plan for clearing more land, because he trusted the men present, and because it was in the tower, albeit one of the lower floors, well within the safety of its walls. Tim had taken his seat on Ra's' right, in one of the nondescript white chairs that surrounded the glass table, mirroring the other men already present. Of course, there was nothing nondescript about the silks Ra's had him in again, bright enough to brand him as the man's favored ("They must know your place," Ra's had murmured), ostentatious in a way that always made Tim wish oddly for a mask. Still, he knew the men assembled, had been allowed to work with some of them within the tower, and everything had appeared to be the beginning of a completely boring, normal meeting: Ra's demanding an accounting of the progress made and assigning new divisions of labor.

It was. Until the doors flung open and several men strode in, their features concealed behind masks, gate liquid and angry.

Tim was on his feet instantly, standing tall and strong in the face of the intrusion, prepared to protect Ra's, even though the man's demons were already reacting, rising from the thin shadows under chairs and tables and stands of ferns. The men at the table were slower to react, scrambling belatedly to the walls to get out of the way, recognizing trouble.

Judging by the things he'd heard about them, Tim had expected the Detective and his allies to be monsters: inhuman creatures that feasted on warm blood and wrought destruction with the strength of a dozen men. But they weren't. They were commanding. Perfect.

"Ra's! This is the last—" The man in the front, the largest and most intimidating, started to growl, only to stop short when his masked gaze fell on Tim, the anger draining away into wonder. "Tim." He mouthed the name, but he didn't get any further.

Ra's had stood by then, resolute and undeterred, and pulled Tim against his side before Tim could even think to jump between them, arm sliding possessively around him. Tim might have protested that, but all his attention was for the transfixing intruders.

He hadn't expected them to be so… beautiful. Ethereal black hair and pale skin. They moved as fast as the demons. The slimmer one at the Detective's side held his arms out, beseeching, like a siren, transfixing in his beauty, calling to him.

"Timmy!" It hurt to look at them—the keening crescendo of a headache, a ringing in his ears, a sort of disorientation—but he couldn't look away either.

Then Ra's' hand came down like a bar, plunging his vision into darkness.

"Don't look them in the eyes!" Tim nodded frantically, but Ra's was already shouting more orders. "Take Timothy! Keep him safe!"

"No!" Someone was shouting, words that bled into each other as the temperature suddenly spiked. Tim felt the fever-heat of the demons Ra's commanded swallow him, suck him down into that nowhere of choking cinders and burning things. He cried out as it enveloped him, clawing at the darkness. The demons' grip was firm though, as it always was, eagerly holding him tight, perhaps hoping that this time Ra's would give him to them entirely. Theirs to play with. He choked, thrashing against the perceived need for air, certain there was none as each gasp only sucked in more searing heat. Normally it was a punishment to be carried through the same space the demons inhabited—a punishment that never failed to earn Ra's instant obedience. Even if he was certain the man had intended it to be a protection this time, it didn't stop the sensation of endlessly suffocating, of burning alive but never dying.

He couldn't say how long he stayed there in that delirium, but when he finally came back to himself, it was sprawled in Ra's' lap, the man's hand running calming strokes down his heaving back, through the slits in the silk robe he wore. Tim blinked, wide eyed at the familiar beige room, now empty, and shuddered, grateful for that contact, for the grounding nature of it.

"What happened?" he asked, when he could get breath again, the cool air of the room filtering into his seared lungs. His eyes darted around, confused. What few things had been damaged in the scuffle had been swept away: one fern pot was obviously missing, along with several chairs. Ra's seemed largely at ease for having just been attacked, the hand on Tim's spine thoughtful.

"They couldn't get what they came for, so they left." Green eyes gazed down at Tim consideringly. They were on the floor, the man's robes splayed on the unornamented, beige carpet, but from the way he sat, he might as well have been in full command of the room.

Tim shuddered one last time and sat up, embarrassed by his position in Ra's' lap, embarrassed that he'd needed the connection, like he was five again, clinging to the man's robes because the demons scared him. He was strong. He could defend himself now. Ra's had made sure of it.

And the man had taken him out of the struggle before he'd even had a chance.

Tim frowned.

"I want to stay with you next time. I want to fight."

"Your blades cannot kill these men, dear Timothy." Ra's' hands moved to tamp down a few strands of unruly black hair like Tim really was five. "They are like demons." Tim flushed at the touch, embarrassed again, and settled back, momentarily put off, because Ra's knew exactly how capable he was, so if Ra's said this was beyond his abilities, it was. Still, he had yet to face a problem that couldn't be solved if he worked it the right way.

"Then…"

"No," Ra's interrupted.

"I didn't even…"

"You were going to ask me to teach you how to fight them." The man's smile was sharply fond—the fingers in Timothy's hair definitely soothing now. "Stay here. Be safe. Put my mind at ease." That was not the answer Tim wanted.

"It would ease your mind more if I could defend against them."

Ra's sighed instead of answering, and the silence stretched out unbearably for several minutes. Tim refused to let it get to him, staring unwaveringly back, and finally the man spoke.

"I can see you're determined." Ra's' fingers moved to his chin, tilting his head up to better search him with that penetrating green gaze. Tim often felt like that gaze could see into his soul. The man sighed again. "You're going to pursue this against my wishes."

"You know me too well, _austad_." His smile was unabashed.

"Perhaps…" Ra's paused, considering. "Perhaps there is one thing that could be done…"

* * *

**Author Notes:** Writing 5000 word chapters again. Shame on me. No wonder it takes so long to post. So here we are, nearly sixteen years after the end of the last story, with a Tim who has grown up alongside Ra's. I couldn't give up on this one concept from my last fic: What if Ra's didn't kill Tim, but exploited the situation to get Tim on his side and use him against Bruce? Except this story assumes that the previous six incarnations still occurred (am I counting those right?), the rest of the family still found out what was going on, and Ra's ultimately won the last round. I'm still debating whether or not Damian and Alfred are going to make any kind of appearance in this fic.

For anyone wondering what on earth I'm doing starting a new story, I have not given up on Persona, I am just totally blocked up on a conversation with Dick in ch. 5 and too tired of looking at it. And of course, writing is getting harder and harder.

**Translation Notes:** And I quote, "Austad (pronounce the dh like the 'th' in 'the') (female version=austadh) means 'teacher' and 'professor' and is also an honorific. For example, you might call your aged neighbor austad even though he's never been a teacher."


	2. Gift

**Warning:** Possession. Yeah, that kind of possession. I realize that's a spoiler, but this is serious. It should be noted that I in no way support the life choices made by characters in this fic and that demons really ought to be taken more seriously than this.

**Chapter 2**

Gift

He shouldn't have been sneaking out. Not when he just had to wait one more day. Ra's had promised to help him defend against their enemy once preparations were finished. One more day and maybe Ra's wouldn't treat him like a liability when it came to facing the Detective. But perhaps that was _why _Tim was out, padding silently across rooftops without permission again: the anticipation was keeping him from sleeping.

He snuck across the ruined third story of what had once been an office building, ducking around a crumbling interior wall before moving quickly along the edge where an exterior wall had fallen away completely, pausing only to examine the repair work that had been done recently. Some little bit of motion caught his attention, no more than a flicker in the shadows steeping the building, and he spun, weight shifting to the bad footing that was the moldering remains of the outer wall. It was just enough. The edge of the building crumbled under his boot, and he nearly slipped, balance thrown off, teetering toward the jagged rebar littering the street below. A firm hand gripped his wrist suddenly, mid-teeter, tugging him back onto firm footing with inhuman ease. Tim nearly yelped in surprise, and he had his katana drawn before his feet even touched down safely on the cracked tiles, shoving it through his rescuer's shoulder and into the cracked concrete behind. He couldn't hesitate. Not now.

"Gah! Kid! What the hell?!" Jason grimaced, pulling the katana free with a hand wrapped around the blade.

"Stay away from me!" Tim knew what the man was now. It was so obvious, he couldn't tell how he hadn't seen it before: the way he always felt so dazed and confused around the man, the inhuman strength, the sheer allure of being around him.

"I was trying to _help_…" Jason rotated the injured shoulder—once, feeling it out unhappily—before dropping it, and no one healed that fast. The bloodied katana fell to the roof with a clatter, forgotten.

"You're one of them!" Tim stepped back, putting more distance between them, because he knew how fast the other man could move if he wanted. He should've waited that one day before going out. He'd walked right into it. "You're trying to manipulate me."

"Do you really believe that?" Jason asked flatly, head cocked disbelievingly to the side, and everything about the man was just so blunt, Tim caught himself actually starting to doubt.

"Stop it!" He shook his head. Ra's had warned him these people could get to him. He'd _warned_ him. "Stop trying to confuse me!"

"First of all…" Jason growled, stepping forward angrily, only to stop when Tim responded with a defensive crouch. "First of all, I don't have to _try_ to confuse anyone. If I wanted you to believe something, I wouldn't have to waste time trying to convince you, I'd have just enthralled you."

"You're bluffing…"

"Am I?" Jason's grin was sudden and sharp, almost feral, displaying the points of his incisors. Slowly, with one hand, Jason reached up and peeled back his own mask. Tim slammed his eyes closed. He wouldn't be caught, not even to prove his own point. Jason seemed to find it amusing. "Who's bluffing now?"

Tim frowned stubbornly, eyes still shuttered tight. He didn't need to be able to see to get down or fight—he knew the exact distance to the ledge behind him, the distance he'd have to leap to clear the rubble below, the fastest route back—but it would put him at a disadvantage. Jason sighed, perhaps sensing his thoughts.

"I don't have Dick's gift. I can't make you look at me just by asking nicely, but…" Tim never heard him move, alarming in itself, but he definitely felt the sudden constriction of fingers circling his lower arm, pulling it out in front of him, the _snick_ of torn fabric bearing his wrist.

"Hey!" Tim sucked in a startled breath, eyes snapping open, and now he could see Jason's were blue. Too familiar blue. Half lidded lazily as the man bent slowly over the wrist he held captive. The sight rooted Tim in place halfway through trying to jerk his arm back. He couldn't seem to look away, not even when the man's hands gripping his arm pulled it closer.

Everything was familiar dizziness again, that sense of déjà vu, of things being two ways at once, of knowing Jason well and not knowing him at all, and the distraction of trying to figure it out was definitely why he hadn't pulled away. It had nothing to do with the strange warmth uncurling where the man's hands pressed against his uniform or the sudden unsteadiness in his legs. That was surely the disorientation—the disconcerting feeling that he knew this man, and if he just tried a little harder, held out a little longer, he might figure out how and where from.

Jason made some appreciative noise and Tim realized the sharp scrape against the delicate skin of his wrist was the man's incisors, stark and dangerous, and the realization startled him.

What was he _doing_, letting this man get to him? His heart rate hiked in sudden alarm and he jerked away, gasping, as far as Jason would let him go, because the grip on his lower arm was a sturdy one, keeping him from breaking away entirely.

The man's other hand slid to press against Tim's chest, head tilted. _Listening_, Tim realized.

"_Now_ you're afraid." Because he could actually hear Tim's heart.

"You _are_ bluffing," Tim decided, suddenly sure. Not about being able to control him, maybe, but about going through with it. Tim met the man's gaze unwaveringly, even if the pounding of his heart did give him away. He was wary of the man's power, the disorientation he brought, yes, but not afraid of the man. "_And_ you're manipulating me." He twisted a little in the uncomfortable grip unhappily. Jason only snorted.

"Taking advantage of the situation maybe, but I'm not hiding anything from you, kid." His brows furrowed in frustration, grip tightening, and it was just enough to be painful. "Anything you want to know about us, you've always just had to ask."

"I know enough," Tim grit out.

"Ra's' lies." But the man must have realized how tight his grip was, because he let go, stepping back.

"He wouldn't lie to me." Tim had always been the most loyal, the one Ra's could trust more than any other.

"Wouldn't he?" Jason's snort this time was derisive. Tim still wasn't certain the man wasn't just trying to confuse him, but he had backed off a little, leaning easily back against the wall. He didn't _seem_ to be doing anything. Which didn't make sense. If Jason was as powerful as he claimed—as powerful as Ra's seemed to fear—capable of bending Tim to his every whim, why hadn't the man just commanded him to go bring him whatever it was Ra's had taken from them? Why was he holding back?

Tim picked up his discarded katana, wiping the blood off before re-sheathing it, never quite taking his eye off Jason. As far as he was concerned, this meeting was over. At the very least, he needed to think about these things, and he needed to do it where he could be certain Jason wasn't still affecting him.

"I'm leaving." He turned, heading towards the edge of the roof. Jason watched him, but didn't make a move to stop him.

"When you want to know the truth, you know where to find me."

* * *

The encounter was still bothering Tim late the next day, because he couldn't make sense of it: not Jason's purpose and not his own conflicting instincts. The man hadn't hurt him—not even after Tim had attacked him—not really, and he'd even let him go. What could Jason possibly gain from letting him go? There was no advantage to it.

Then there was the strange sense of familiarity, the pull he felt to believe Jason whenever around him, and that might have been the man subtlety beguiling him, but… Tim didn't think Jason had done it. In fact, he was pretty certain Jason had told nothing but the blunt, unadulterated truth the entire time, whether Tim liked it or not.

He flopped back onto the beige sofa beneath him with a frustrated sigh, because he was missing something. Some piece of the puzzle. Something that would make it all fit.

Unfortunately, there wasn't time to sort it all out, because Ra's found him as the sun sank beneath the jagged horizon, appearing silent and imposing in the doorway. He didn't say a word, just waited expectantly, and Tim went to him immediately, unreservedly, because this he knew he could trust. This he didn't have to sort out. Ra's would give him exactly what he'd promised.

The man waited only long enough for Tim to fall into place at his side before turning and leading him down to one of the smaller penthouses. The contents of the first room had been pushed to the far walls—lamps, end tables, and chairs—leaving only one single wooden table bare in the center. An ornate bowl half full of water sat on a nearby counter, along with a dagger and small hand towel. That was where Ra's stopped, turning regally slow to face Tim, who shivered under the sudden regard, more a tremble of anticipation.

"Are you sure?" Ra's asked, green gaze boring into him as he helped Tim up on the table, strong hand supportive where Tim gripped it. His robes bunched up against the mahogany wood. He was in red today. But then, he was almost always in red. The color felt right somehow.

"Yes," Tim replied immediately. In the back of his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jason's whispered about lies. He shook if off. After all, he didn't have any reason to trust Jason. Not when Ra's had been true to every word. He was not always a nice man, but he was honorable.

Tim lay back until his hair splayed against the wood, letting Ra's adjust him as he willed, sucking in a steadying breath when the man gestured imperiously and two demons materialized out of the shadowed corners, shackling Tim's wrists and ankles with their inhumanly strong grip. The heat of their touch nearly burned his skin. Tim tugged experimentally against the grip of black fingers. He trusted Ra's, but he couldn't help a little bit of worry that the man thought it necessary to restrain him at all.

Once the demons had a firm hold, Ra's lifted the thin dagger from the counter, and Tim's heart rate hiked in uncertainty.

"Are you _sure?_" Ra's asked again, gaze flat and unwavering, and it definitely said something that the man bothered offering the out a second time. He wasn't known for his patience with those who wasted his time. If Ra's thought Tim's resolve would waver now though, he was going to be disappointed.

"I'm sure." Tim steadied himself in the demons' grip, still eyeing the dagger. It didn't look like he thought it should look—no inlaid gold adorned the handle or thinned into a line down the spine of the blade—though he couldn't figure out why he expected it to look any different. Neither could he figure out why Ra's holding it over him should alarm him so—a sudden fear bubbling up under his skin—but it seemed connected to the sudden wash of vertigo: a disorientation he'd only started experiencing since running into Jason. Apparently the encounter had unsettled him more than he'd realized. Annoyed, he pushed aside the foreign feel of displacement along with the creeping fear. He wasn't going to let Jason get to him.

Ra's offered no reassurances.

With easy grace, the man flicked back the edges of red silk to expose Tim's navel, bringing the dagger to bear against smooth skin. Tim clutched a little tighter at the shadowy hands binding his wrists but didn't flinch away as the blade sliced downward, a series of neat little cuts. If anything, he relaxed into the slow slide of the silver. This was all right. He could deal with this. He'd dealt with worse before.

Blood welled up in the wake of the blade. Ra's put a hand over the marking, palm against the blood, and the man's shadow came alive with a hiss, molten living darkness clawing its way free of the rest and up to perch on the man's shoulder. Tim looked to the man for some indication, but Ra's' whole focus was on that point of contact where his fingers splayed against the faint ridges of lower abdominal muscle, green eyes alight in that piercing gaze. There was an intensity about him Tim had rarely seen, not all at once, not usually so concentrated. It made Tim's breath hitch with equal measures fear and exultation, seeing the promised intent there, because yes, _yes_. After this, Ra's would no longer worry about him and he'd be able to protect those things they'd built together. So even with the unholy gaze of the demon upon him and Ra's' own frighteningly focused eyes staring down at him, he wasn't afraid.

The demon found Ra's' arm like lightning to a lightning rod, diving down it with a snarl. Tim didn't have time to prepare before it was sinking into his flesh, clawing its way into his body through the blood and the mark. Later, he'd wonder how something so seemingly large could fit inside him. Later, he'd wonder at the incongruity of smooth skin where he felt he'd been ripped open.

This time the black claws encircling his wrists and ankles felt the strain. Tim cried out as his body arched, struggling against the invasive heat. If his hands hadn't been bound he might have clawed at the deceptively smooth flesh of his abdomen, raked out the thing burning inside him, setting his flesh on fire. His fingers curled convulsively at the thought. He wrapped them around the clawed hands restraining him instead—safe, shadowy restraints that only abraded his skin when he jerked, _needing_ to feel something other than this infernal heat—and pulled, twisting at them desperately, blindly searching for weaknesses. Ra's had chosen well though, and Tim fell back against the wood, gasping through the sweltering heat, unable to curl in on himself, unable to escape. His vision swam as he twisted, head jerking back and forth agitatedly, unable to find comfort or relief from the heat burning him up from the inside out.

Then Ra's' hand fell on his forehead, holding a damp cloth in place, and Tim pushed into it mindlessly.

"Don't fight it, Timothy. Let it remake you."

Ra's was not going to free him from this responsibility, and Tim would not beg. He would not show weakness in front of the man he looked up to the most. So he could only endure it, teeth gritted against the delirium that stretched the minutes to hours, and wonder that his bones hadn't melted already.

At some point it stopped seeming like an impossible task to endure the remaking. He wasn't sure if the heat became more bearable or if he became gradually more accustomed to it. Maybe a little of both, a meeting in the middle. He knew only that slowly the tension bled away, leaving him slumped back against the wood, exhausted, spent, staring up at Ra's blearily.

"What?" he mouthed, struggling to support even that one syllable. "What?"

"I've bound one of my demons to you. It sleeps inside you even now." One of the man's rough hands caressed the mark etched into his navel possessively—Ra's' mark, Ra's had _marked_ him—and Tim felt something inside him react to that touch, something squirm just beneath his skin that had nothing to do with nervous butterflies. He could feel it, the coiled heat there, like something alive.

He shuddered involuntarily, but he'd asked for Ra's' help and he couldn't spurn it now. He felt exhausted, every limb heavy. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin. Damp hair stuck to his face. He was still panting when Ra's motioned the demons holding him away, scooping him up himself. Tim rested his head against the man's shoulder, gulping clean, cold air, and fell asleep to the rhythm of his gait.

* * *

Tim spent the next few days in various states of unconsciousness with something akin to a fever. Sometimes the heat would become unbearable again, and he'd find himself kicking away covers that had been pulled up at night. Sometimes the fuzzy shapes swimming around him would resolve into the familiar forms of lamps and curtains and nightstands.

It took a week before his body adjusted to its new occupant. A week of sweating. A week of cold baths and frequent glasses of water, accepting help drinking because he couldn't hold the glass without shaking. A week of Ra's' vigilant ministrations, fingers sometimes brushing away sweat-damp hair and sometimes stroking along the mark at his navel proudly, claiming him.

Tim didn't mind. It would have hurt worse if the man had left him alone. This way he knew he was wanted, even if he felt ridiculously pathetic, even if he wished Ra's didn't have to see him like this. More than anything, he didn't want to fail the man's expectations.

Even when the week was over and he'd finally adjusted to the smoldering heat, finally managed to stand without shaking, Ra's was right there, going over hand-scrawled plans at the desk he'd had brought up. When he noticed Tim standing up, leaning ever so slightly against the nightstand, he immediately pushed the chair back and strode over to him, one hand wrapping firmly around his upper arm, the other brushing his forehead appraisingly.

"I'm fine now." Tim tried to shake off the man's concern, but the fingers circling his arm didn't budge, pulling him down onto the bed. Tim sat rather than be pulled off balance.

"The others took twice as long." Ra's' gaze was hard, considering.

"You've done this before." He hadn't been the first the man had trusted with this. The others had struggled too. Somehow that was a little redeeming.

"Yes," Ra's agreed. "Sometimes it is necessary to provide personal protection." The hand that had fallen from Tim's forehead, satisfied, pushed back layers of silk until it found skin, pressing against his navel, checking. The demon squirmed inside him at the touch. Less like a squirm maybe and more like a slow return of Ra's touch, pressing against the inside of Tim's skin.

Tim paused, examining this new sensation in his body, cataloguing the tiny details. The stretch and burn of it. Vaguely like being too full.

He had seen what Ra's' demons could do, and he understood what he'd been given. If he were taken away, Ra's would be able to track the demon slumbering within him. If he were attacked, the demon would aid him. This was what safety felt like: this squirming in his belly, this living heat. This was the price of protection. He understood that, but he couldn't help but feel tainted anyway. Each ebb and flow of heat through his veins felt like slow poison. He could envision the demon like a nest of black shadows twined about his intestines, filling in all the little spaces, filling him up.

"You've done well." Ra's' words called him back from his contemplation, warm in his ear, the man's hand still lingering at his abdomen.

_Yes, I'm yours. _

"The transition is hard," Ra's continued, finally withdrawing, and Tim swayed for a moment on his own. "Not all survive it." He hadn't even realized he'd been leaning.

"But I'm stronger now." He could feel it, sense the demon's energy coursing through him. He was going to be stronger when this was over. "You won't have to worry about me."

"It will be much harder for the Detective to take you," Ra's allowed. "I still don't want you running into them if it can be avoided."

Tim frowned at Ra's' back as the man turned away and swept regally slow back to the desk and the work waiting there, effectively ending any discussion. He wanted to follow the man, ask what the Detective wanted in the first place, because he was missing something obvious, some puzzle piece he hadn't worked out, and it was bothering him. But Ra's showed no signs of sharing that information, least of all at the moment.

Instead of pursuing a useless debate, Tim pulled his robe aside, examining the neat lines the knife had carved into his skin. He hadn't really been able to look at them, sick as he'd been. Now he could see that they'd been seared shut so only the scars remained, etched there, blatantly marking him for what Ra's had made him.

A demon's vessel.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Well, I wanted to get to the Dick scene, which is literally the next scene and was supposed to be included in this chapter, but since every attempt at fixing it up resulted in ignoring this story for another month, I thought I really just ought to post the part that's working for now. Unfortunately this leaves me in the awkward position of deciding whether to _add_ the missing three scenes back into this chapter at some point in the future or separate them out into their own, less-than-2k-word chapter. If it takes another five months, it's not my fault! I have zero concentration time right now, at least in the stretches I need to write. _The tiny addition to the family needs to learn how to play on his own. _

I just really wanted to get something posted for Halloween with demons. Also, my birthday is coming up, which I totally intend to celebrate by finding a comic store and catching up on Tim, if there _are_ any good Tim stories in the New 52. Any suggestions?


	3. Stolen Things

.

**Chapter 3**  
Stolen Things

A week passed and Tim didn't sneak outside again, though that might have been due more to the fact that Ra's would know instantly now if he left rather than any sudden desire to avoid trouble, or rather, a certain black-haired, blue-eyed trouble_maker_. Besides, there was a lot to catch up on, progress to look over, people to check in with. If he couldn't participate personally, he was at least determined to make sure it was done right.

He had just returned from one such outing when a shifting in the shadows had him perking up, expecting to see Ra's returning, sweeping into the room with regal grace. The shifting was wrong though, not quite the prowl of Ra's' demons, and indeed, when he looked up, it wasn't Ra's standing there.

It was one of the intruders, one of the Detective's allies. He stood by the window, as strikingly beautiful as Tim remembered, all lean muscle and wispy black hair and startling blue eyes. For just a moment Tim thought it was Jason, and he couldn't help the flare of anticipation, even if it was the stupidest thing the man could have done, following him there. But then the rest of the details registered—the blue insignia against the black he wore, the softer set of his features, the longer sweep of his hair—and the thrill turned to alarm.

"Timmy." The man smiled, a beautiful smile, like everything else about him. Tim straightened, preparing to defend his home, taking charge of the situation.

"What is it that you want?" Whatever this man had come to steal, Tim was going to make sure he didn't get his hands on it. A few demons in the room had already scattered, off to tell their master.

"I've come for _you_, Timmy." And no matter how kindly, how earnestly those words were whispered, Tim felt all the calculations and stratagems in his head come to a jarring halt. Maybe he'd always been a little bad at evaluating his own worth, but in all his suppositions, he'd never considered it might be him they were after. Suddenly all those times Ra's had told him he underestimated his own importance made sense, why Ra's had hidden him instead of letting him fight. They wanted _him_. The entire time, he'd been the thing they wanted all along. The thing they'd come to take from Ra's.

It changed everything.

"I won't let you use me against Ra's." He had to think. The advantage seemed to be on his side if it came to a fight: they were on his territory, he had the demon inside him, more of them around the room that would definitely join in defending him, and Ra's was on his way. However, he had to assume that this creature had come here knowing that and had some advantage. If he was as dangerous as Ra's seemed to think, it was better not to underestimate him.

"I'd never use you." He held his hands out disarmingly, but Tim knew the man had no need for physical weapons. "Come on, Timmy. You know me."

Tim shook his head. He didn't know these people. Except he did. It was that same familiarity he always felt around Jason. As though the man (stranger!) had called it forth, there was a name at the tip of his tongue.

"Dick?" It was a trick. A _trick_. Ra's was right, they couldn't be trusted. They were trying to confuse him. He waved a hand as if to ward off the déjà vu. But the man was positively beaming at him now, nodding.

"That's right, Little Brother. I just want you to come home." Dick took a couple more steps forward: slow, unthreatening, steadily closing the gap between them. Tim's heart was hammering in his chest.

"I am home." He blinked and Dick's fingers were on his face, sliding reverently into his hair. That touch—like a memory of hugs, fingers tapping against his skin, brilliant grins in the dark. The images were warm and welcoming.

He was going to be sick all over again.

"I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you. Come back to us." Except they weren't his memories. The creature was trying to confuse him again, showing him images that didn't exist.

Tim was aware peripherally that his eyes were too wide, his body frozen against the wall under the mental assault.

The demon inside him squirmed agitatedly at Dick's touch. Tim felt a wave of infernal heat wash over him, rising from the pit of his stomach, rinsing away the shock of the images. He panted for breath. It was too hot. Dick seemed to notice, concern creasing his brow.

"Timmy? Tim, are you all right?" The cold hand pressed against his forehead then wasn't enough to help. He stumbled, eyes rolling up into darkness. Dick's worried voice followed him into oblivion.

"Tim, what has he done to you?"

* * *

Tim woke covered in blood, like an unpleasant coating of war paint, post battle, which cracked and flaked when he wrinkled his nose. He didn't know what it was at first, only that his clothes were stiff and heavy, his hair matted with it.

"Timothy?" Ra's was kneeling beside him, hand on his arm, looking relieved when Tim blinked up at him dazedly. Then the blood registered: it stained the carpets and the walls, it covered his arms and peeled in grotesque splotches on his hands. At first it panicked him and he scrambled to look for the wounds, raking fingers over the flaking blood, scraping it off, but there was only unblemished skin beneath. He wasn't injured. The relief was overwhelming.

"It worked," Tim looked up at Ra's with growing triumph as the realization set in. "It worked. He couldn't take me." But the man didn't seem to share his exultation, gaze hard as he sat back.

"These enemies are smart. This won't stop them for long."

"But there's one fewer of them now." Tim spread his arms, wrinkling his nose again at the coating of sticky blood. Nothing could have survived that kind of blood loss. "Surely that's some relief." So why did he feel only a sort of nervous worry at the thought?

"He'll be back." Ra's' gaze only darkened broodingly. "The Detective's children aren't so easy to kill."

Tim let his arms fall to his side, back against his sticky, red and brown stained robes, and moved closer to the man's side. The heat pooled in his abdomen was reassuring, a constant promise of protection. It made it easier to ask the question that was burning the back of his tongue, the one thing he didn't understand.

"He came for _me_, Ra's. Why would they want me?"

"Your position at my side is more important than you think." Ra's' tight smile seemed to say he'd explained this before. "Taking you from me would deal a great blow to my hold on the city."

There was something still bothering Tim though, something not taken into account by such an explanation. Ra's had admitted to stealing something from them, and it was curious the way Tim seemed to know their names, the way they'd come to him, not like an adversary seeking a fight, but like brothers. What if…

"What was it you took from them?" he blurted out. It wasn't his place to question Ra's, and he half expected a rebuke, but the man's impenetrable green gaze only regarded him thoughtfully.

"The city," he said, like it was obvious.

Tim blinked, caught off guard. It wasn't a lie—Tim knew how to read lies—but it wasn't the answer he'd expected either. Perhaps the familiarity he felt with their adversaries, the inexplicable knowledge of their names, had simply been more of their mental tricks. Perhaps he'd been a fool to put more thought into it.

"Do you think less of me for taking it from them?" Ra's asked suddenly, and Tim realized he'd been frowning intensely into the distance. He shook his head.

"They couldn't have been doing a good job taking care of it if they let the curse kill everyone."

"No," Ra's replied, somehow amused. "I suppose not." He reached out then, hand gripping Tim's shoulder. "I am relieved to find their attack unsuccessful. I'm glad you were not harmed."

Tim smiled, leaning into the warmth of the man's touch, and shrugged off his lingering doubts temporarily in favor of appreciating this momentary success.

It wasn't until later, looking in the multi-faceted mirror of the master bathroom at his own reflection, that he thought back on the strange conversation he'd had with the creature called Dick. The man had called him Little Brother. Looking in the mirror now at his own features—less perfect, not so ethereally beautiful perhaps, but similarly colored blue eyes, the same black hair—he had to wonder.

"Was the city the only thing you took, Ra's?"

* * *

Dick looked back at the monolithic tower—what had once been a hotel with the grandest view of Central Park, now one of the few remaining structures in the area and the prison holding his brother—because prisons didn't have to be dark and dank and Spartan. Sometimes they were made of silk pillows, and mother-of-pearl inlay, and the fond touches of a man who had stripped away the memory of family and the ones who really cared.

Dick gritted his teeth. He'd been beaten badly, blood soaking his suit even if the gashes had already healed over, but despite all that, what stung the worst was the failure. He hadn't managed to free his brother. Tim was still an unwitting prisoner.

"What happened?" Bruce demanded, landing lightly beside him on the burned-out hull of a house. Damian and Jason weren't far behind. They'd agreed that he was the best choice to convince Tim. If anyone had a shot at bringing their stolen brother home, it was him. Of all of them, Dick had always been the most naturally convincing without having to resort to tricks. Ordinary people tended to look at him, to listen to him, to believe him. Ordinary people like Tim.

The thought of Tim, of what had been done to him, filled him with a renewed sort of rage.

"Dick?" Bruce prompted.

"It was Ra's." He nearly spit the words. "That _man_ put a demon in our _brother_."

* * *

**Author Notes:** This was actually supposed to be the end of ch. 2. I think I was holding onto it because the ending I had in mind required Tim be familiar with the people in the city, and I needed a scene that showed him interacting with them. That and I wanted to elongate the meeting with Dick to show the fight. At this point though, both of those things seem so ridiculously minor. I would rather get the rest of what I have written posted than leave 5000 good words moldering on my computer for the rest of eternity.

I thought I'd have time after my baby was born to write (like I did after my first baby), but I have since had to reevaluate my life priorities, because I just have no thinking time at all anymore with two hip-high little critters running around. Unfortunately writing has gotten sacrificed. That's why there are now year-long gaps between updates. T_T


	4. Tricked

.

**Chapter 4  
**Tricked

It didn't take more than two days for Tim to decide there was only one way to get the answers he needed. There was only one person who seemed willing to give them to him, even if he couldn't necessarily trust the man. Jason was one of _them_, one of the creatures undermining Ra's. Still, Jason hadn't tried to kidnap him or take him away or force him in any way, and Jason had promised to answer if he asked. Jason was his best chance. Which was why he was sneaking out again.

He'd have to hurry, the demons would come for him twice as quickly now, but luckily he didn't have to look long. He found Jason the very first block he searched.

"Finally ready to hear the truth?" The man seemed to materialize from the shadows as though he'd been waiting. From the angry line of his mouth and stiff set of his shoulders, he'd heard about what had happened to the last one who'd messed with Tim. Good, it would make this easier.

"Tell me." Tim intentionally let his hands fall to his sides, away from any weapons.

"You sure you want to hear it now? You messed Dickie up pretty badly when he tried."

"He attacked me." Tim frowned, arms folded, but Jason only laughed, a cynical sounding thing.

"Dickie couldn't have attacked you if he'd wanted to. He cares about you too much. He might've tried to _hug_ you."

"He would've taken me away."

"Because you're one of us!" the man burst out. Still he didn't make any move to touch Tim, just held his distance.

"Prove it." Jason couldn't just expect him to believe that. It was ridiculous. They were inhumanly strong, unearthly beautiful, impossible creatures. Tim was only human. And yet, why would they be so insistent about it? That's what Tim couldn't figure out.

"I'll show you." Turning on his heel, Jason strode purposefully into the darkness as though he really had something to prove. Tim briefly weighed the wisdom of following the man—the disadvantage this would put him at—and glanced back at the tower, at the flickers of movement among the shadows, before deciding that he'd just have to take the risk. He hurried after.

Despite how quickly Tim knew the man could move, Jason kept to a pace Tim could follow, never getting too far ahead, disappearing around corners only for the minute it took Tim to round them and catch sight of the man again.

Jason didn't look back, not once, to make sure Tim was following him. Maybe he knew. Maybe along with all those other gifts, the man could hear the impossibly small sounds of his feet scraping the ground, or the rhythm of his heart, the breath filling his lungs. Disconcerted but determined, Tim followed on.

Quickly they made their way through the dark streets of the residential district and towards the undeveloped sprawl of broken buildings beyond. Tim hesitated again when they reached the edge, reassessing the risk. It was one thing to follow through familiar streets he'd helped plan—territory protected by Ra's' demons—another to venture into the unfamiliar, dangerous ground beyond. He thought he could handle Jason, if the man tried anything, but if he ran into any more…

As if sensing his hesitation, Jason called back.

"Not much farther."

Eyeing the shadows warily now, Tim stepped out of the familiar streets and into the splintered bones of the old city. The going wasn't as easy now. He had to clamber over large chunks of broken cement, rebar stabbing jaggedly into the sky. Dark, empty doorways stared back at them like dead eyes, the wood long since scavenged for warmth against the winter. Abandoned cars littered the streets, some smashed against each other, some crushed by debris.

Eventually Jason's path led them to a dilapidated church. The stone wall protecting it had long since been smashed down, but the courtyard remained relatively clear, the flowers dead, the ground barren. Jason stopped on the stairs to turn and regard him, and Tim knew that something here was what the man wanted to show him. He stepped warily over the downed wall and onto the grounds, half expecting an ambush, but no attack came, not from the shadows that huddled on all sides, not from Jason. Nevertheless, the effect was immediate.

Everything lurched the moment his feet hit the ground of the courtyard. The demon inside him howled, thrashing, and Tim doubled over, sucking in air. He'd never felt such a violent reaction from the demon before, like it was trying to claw its way out of him. He stumbled sideways a step. He felt sick, his legs shaky, all his strength leeched from him. Or maybe it was the demon that was sick. Either way, it was Tim who fell to hands and knees, heaving violently. It was Tim who tried to lock his elbows against the dizzying, nauseating lurch of the world, only to sink to the ground anyway, forehead pressing against the dirt. It was Tim left curled there to see a familiar pair of shoes come to rest a foot from his outstretched fingers.

"You," he gasped, turning the tiny bit needed to look up at Jason above him, "tricked me." The man crouched down, one gloved hand brushing saliva from the corner of Tim's mouth, almost gently.

"I'm sorry, kid. For what it's worth, I really am."

* * *

Jason couldn't help but feel a little guilty watching Tim gasp at his feet, brought low by the very thing meant to protect him from them. But Ra's had gone too far this time. So when the opportunity had presented itself to reclaim the kid, Jason couldn't pass it up.

Now he had a different problem. As soon as he stepped off the consecrated ground, the demon would start to recover. He didn't have much time. Luckily, Jason was fast, and the manor wasn't that far, situated on similarly consecrated ground ever since they'd discovered a pressing need to keep Ra's' demons out. Now it served as the last real bulwark against the man's claim on the city.

Jason scooped the kid up, glancing down only once as Tim moaned incoherently into his shoulder, before putting the speed and power he'd been cursed with to use. Funny how the end of organized civilization had repaired the frayed relationship he shared with Bruce faster than anything before it. Once he would have avoided the man at all costs. Now he didn't hesitate in going there first.

The others heard him coming, of course. They heard the second heartbeat he was bringing with him too, which was probably why they were waiting for him, all of them, two pairs of blue eyes turned his direction. They both riveted to the bundle in his arms as soon as he came within sight, both a different shade of surprised.

Dick was beside him first, hands reverently sweeping hair from Tim's face, unable to refrain from touching, even as Jason continued to stride forward. The kid's eyes had slid nearly closed on the way over, rolling sickeningly.

"Timmy! What's wrong with him? Jason, what happened? How did you…" But Jason ignored the older man's onslaught of questions, not stopping until he stood before Bruce, the only person who would know what to do. Desperately he held Tim out, offering him up to the only other people who cared about the kid as much as he did.

"Help him."

* * *

Tim's next memories were distant and blurry.

There were people looking down at him, swimming in and out of focus in his haze. He could just make out bits of the conversation drifting over his head.

"Why didn't the demon leave when he stepped onto consecrated ground?"

"Ra's sealed it inside him."

"Can we get it out?"

The voices were familiar. They nagged at him, faded and time worn like old memories. But try as he might, he couldn't place them. Especially not with the way the demon was still wallowing about sickeningly.

"Lay him down."

He was set down on something hard and flat. He might have tried to curl up, but there were hands on him, pulling at him, keeping him sprawled out so another pair of hands could push the black uniform up. Cold fingers prodded at his bare skin, stroking over the mark Ra's had left there. The touch there sent a shiver through him. That cut through the delirium more than anything, the sudden cold acting as a focus. He didn't want these people touching it, defiling something important. The demon inside him seemed just as agitated, rising up.

It was weak and couldn't completely push Tim under, couldn't even throw off the hands holding him down. Not for lack of trying. Tim raged at them, the demon lashing out, growling and thrashing. He caught Jason's gaze and everything in him narrowed, focused on that face, the one that had betrayed him.

"Liar!" he snarled, heaving against the hold they had on him, fury given direction and purpose. "Liar!" It shouldn't have hurt so much that Jason had turned out to be like all the rest of them. It had been stupid to ever trust him. He'd known that from the start. "_Liar!_" It was so loud, it hurt to shout it. Jason wasn't even looking at him now.

"Restrain him!" Something cold and metallic clamped around his wrists, another set at his ankles. Tim tried vainly to lunge at Jason again, gnashing his teeth when the restraints brought him up short. It caught his attention, and for a minute his fit was spent in jerking at his wrists and ankles, throwing himself against his bonds in wordless rage. He was filled with mindless enmity, consumed by it. He tried to pull himself up, tried to bite at the restraints he couldn't break, unable to abide this imprisonment.

"What's wrong with him?"

"It's the demon. The consecrated ground is poison to it." The man, the largest one, looked down on him grimly. "We may need only to wait."

The fit didn't last long. It wasn't more than a couple minutes before Tim's flagging strength was exhausted completely, and he sagged back against the table limply, the rage draining out of him.

"I'll need to do some research." The largest one—the one who had to be the Detective—left then. Tim curled up miserably as best he could, shaking off the hands that tried to run comfortingly through his hair. He didn't need their comfort. He didn't understand why they should bother being nice at all, not to an enemy. Eventually even the persistently touchy one seemed to get the hint, and they backed off. There was always one or two of them nearby though, never leaving him entirely alone. Tim still felt awful however, more sick than he'd ever felt before, and he couldn't bring himself to care about their distant presence. Eventually their comings and goings faded into the shadows and he dozed.

* * *

Twenty-four hours hadn't brought many changes. Dick looked down at his little brother, lying so still, and hated Ra's in that moment. It wasn't fair that the man had found Tim first this incarnation, experience and numbers winning out in the end. They'd searched so hard, it wasn't fair that Tim should be ripped away from them again, raised beside the man who'd killed him, and it wasn't fair that Tim should suffer now for it.

The demon was stubborn—clinging to Tim as it died—and Dick was secretly afraid it was going to take his little brother with it. In twenty-four hours, Tim only seemed more exhausted than ever, barely stirring as Dick carefully undid the cuffs around one wrist. The skin underneath was raw and bloodied, shredded against the metal by earlier thrashing.

"Oh, Timmy." Lifting the limb with utmost care, he brought it to his mouth, washing away the hurt with slow kisses, because this was their doing. Maybe they hadn't physically mangled the boy's wrists themselves, but they'd put the bands there. They were taking the demon he'd fought so hard to keep. They were taking away his home, the place he'd grown up, his trust in Ra's. They were taking everything from him.

Tim's eyelids cracked at the strange attention, watching Dick work his way around the bloodied wrist tiredly.

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

Dick's eyes flicked to meet the tired blue of the boy he was tending to, stricken by the question. How could his little brother even think…?

"Timmy, you're _one_ of us! We'd never hurt you!" He shook his head, dismayed. "We freed you from the demon possessing you. Ra's would have used it to control you or threaten us." But Tim's eyelids were sliding shut again, brief spark guttering back out, and Dick couldn't bear it anymore. Bruce had wanted to keep the boy restrained until they were sure the demon was gone and wouldn't be attacking anyone again, but Tim didn't look to be a threat anytime soon, and Dick just couldn't leave him like that. Snapping the rest of the cuffs impatiently, he dragged his little brother into his arms, tucking Tim's head under his chin, and just holding him there. Because if he could just hold onto Tim, he was sure he wouldn't lose him.

He was still sitting there when faint footsteps came up behind them.

"Just couldn't leave him alone, could you?" Jason was back. The man had hardly left Tim's side anymore than Dick. Bruce had checked in, but Dick suspected the man felt a large brunt of the responsibility—for agreeing to let Tim fight Ra's alone, for losing him, for not finding him first in the chaos that followed—and was burying himself in work again. Not that anyone blamed him. They'd all searched for the boy. They'd all failed just as equally. Ra's had simply had greater resources.

"The demon hardly let me touch him last time," Dick replied, and they shared an angry look over Tim's head. "Besides, the cuffs were hurting him." Jason rested a hand on Tim's forehead.

"He feels cooler now at least."

"I think it's almost over."

As if to prove him right, Tim's fingers tightened suddenly, scrabbling at Dick's shirt, and his eyes opened, chest heaving. Dick figured it out with about five seconds to spare and turned Tim's head over his knee just as the boy retched, bringing up a good portion of black bile. He heaved emptily for fifteen seconds while Dick rubbed his back, waiting patiently for the rest he knew was coming.

"That's right," Dick told him, when it came, leaving Tim gasping and shaking weakly, "get it out. You'll feel better."

When at last Tim was done, he slumped bonelessly, spent, and Dick gathered him back up, hopeful now that the ordeal was passing. Jason looked relieved too, one corner of his mouth turned up as he tousled Tim's hair.

"That's the way, kiddo." He fell into the seat next to Dick, sharing the comfortable darkness while Tim slept.

* * *

It was the soft murmur of voices that broke through Tim's sleep-fogged consciousness first.

"Who knows what Ra's has filled his head with."

"What are we going to do if he won't stay with us?"

"It doesn't matter. We can't let—"

"Shh. He's waking up." Finger's sifted through his hair.

Tim gasped as he came to full awareness, curling in on himself, on the emptiness where the demon had been. It felt like part of his soul had been ripped away, felt like it had been cut out of him. He was colder than he had been in ages, shivering without that infernal heat keeping him warm.

As though they'd read his mind, a minute later there was a blanket wrapped around him.

"Timmy?" someone queried softly, but Tim wasn't ready to face them. He'd lost Ra's' gift. The thought brought hot tears prickling the corners of his eyes. For just a minute he allowed himself to wallow in that loss.

Ra's had slain the curse-carrier. The source. He'd saved everyone. What a disappointment Tim was in comparison. He'd walked right into the enemy's clutches, practically turning himself over willingly, and he'd lost the demon, the one thing that could have helped him get home. All things considered, he had no one to blame for the pain but himself. Still, as bad as the situation was, it didn't mean he was going to give up.

Sucking in a steadying breath, Tim sat up, one hand holding the blanket close, and met the closest worried gaze he found with his own steely resolve.

"Take me back," he demanded.

"No." That was Jason, farther back in the darkness. He stepped forward, arms crossed.

"Take me back. I want to go home. I want to see Ra's." The man was surely worried about him.

"That man's cage is not your home," the Detective growled, arms folded across his chest broodingly.

"Timmy," and that was Dick, hesitantly reaching out a hand as if to brace him against the coming words, "Ra's has been lying to you for years."

"He's an honorable man. Twice as honorable as you." Ra's had been right about them. They couldn't be trusted. None of them.

"He killed your parents!"

"It's not true." Tim shook his head vehemently. "He was too late to save them. He tried. He took me in."

"His demons _tore them apart_."

Lies. Lies. All of it. He wouldn't believe it. Wouldn't accept it. He wouldn't be so easily fooled a second time. Ra's was his home, the only home he could remember. The only one he could trust.

"You're just a sacrifice to him!" The way Jason's hands clenched, he looked about a half second from grabbing Tim by the shoulders and shaking him.

"He cares about me!" He did. The man wouldn't have tried so hard to protect him over the years if he hadn't. "He's done so much for this city, rebuilding practically from scratch."

"Ra's caused the destruction in the first place," Dick interceded, trying to keep the argument from becoming a shouting match, blue eyes worried, "using you to spread a curse that caused the death of millions."

"Ra's _saved_ everyone! He slew the curse-carrier."

"Yeah, after he transferred the curse's source to the poor man in the first place." Jason's eyelids shadowed his eyes briefly. "He had his demons devour the man's soul."

"That's not how it happened." But he only knew what Ra's had told him. He hadn't been there. He had to look away, scowling angrily at the floor.

"Timmy, he's using you! Just like he used the curse you contracted." He didn't want to hear these things. Not from these monsters who'd tricked him, kidnapped him, and taken Ra's' gift away. It didn't make sense anyway.

"I never had the curse! I hadn't even been born then!" They shared a look at that, something frustrated and knowing.

"Tim, you were under a curse that recreated your physical body when you died. It was part of your plan. Don't you remember _anything?_"

"Take me back," Tim replied stubbornly.

"Tim…"

"Take me _back_." And he refused to answer any more questions, sticking to his demand until Jason stormed out, frustrated beyond reason, and Dick stood slowly to follow, sad eyes lingering on Tim before finally gliding after his brother. The Detective was the last to leave. He watched Tim for several minutes, expression inscrutable.

"I should have been there," he said at last, voice a quiet rumble. "I should have found you first." Then he too walked out.

Their absence was not the relief Tim had thought it would be though. In their wake, the room felt colder than ever.

* * *

**Author Note:** This feels so rushed to me, but it was asked how Ra's got Tim, and since part of that answer was in this chapter (and since every spare minute is spent writing WTAW and this wasn't getting any further no matter how long I held onto it) it just made more sense to post. My intent was to let Jason or Dick give Tim a more detailed version of events later when he was more receptive, but I have to be honest, I don't know if that'll ever get written now. I feel like this story needs to be reworked way back from ch. 2, and I just don't have the willpower to start that kind of project right now. (trying to decide what to do with this fic)


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